


Hostage

by Somniare



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Gen, Lewis Trope/Cliché 20th Celebratory Challenge, Written for the trope "trapped together"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-03 19:20:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6623068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somniare/pseuds/Somniare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>James rounded the corner and froze at the tableau before him.  Lewis had been cornered, literally, at their preferred table at the very rear of the café.  In effect, he’d been taken hostage.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hostage

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to guinevere81 and perclexed for bolstering my confidence in the story, and also to paperscribe who kindly beta read it for me, as short as it is. This challenge turned out to be harder than I anticipated and very nearly defeated me.

 

* * *

 

James rounded the corner and froze at the tableau before him.  Lewis had been cornered, literally, at their preferred table at the very rear of the café.  In effect, he’d been taken hostage.  The last person James expected to see that afternoon was leaning over the table, his arse blocking the waitress’s path and Lewis’s line of escape.  How in blazes had that happened in the two minutes it had taken James to go to the loo?  The man, damn him, wasn’t even supposed to be in Oxford.  As Lewis had told James with a satisfied grin only days earlier, “he’s off to help the Met with their enquiries.”

James weighed the facts.  In their favour, Lewis's nemesis hadn't seen James, nor did he appear to be looking for him.  James looked sadly at his phone and wallet where they sat beside Lewis's hand.  James could neither run from the cafe - not that he would ever abandon Lewis to this unhappy fate - nor could he easily effect any sort of rescue.  Lewis's fingers were tapping agitatedly, the only outward sign he was unhappy with the situation.  A sign to James, at least.  To anyone else, Lewis could have been tapping out the rhythm of a tune in his head.  The worst part for James was the certain knowledge that no one would be looking for them; it was their day off.

James swept his gaze around the café, hoping to find an ally.  Unsurprisingly, no one seemed to be aware of the predicament he and Lewis were in.  To his chagrin, the young barista smiled at him in obvious amusement.  “This is no laughing matter!” James wanted to yell.

Suddenly raised voices had all eyes turning towards the back corner.

“You must know something!” the man insisted, leaning closer towards Lewis.  James readied himself to jump in.

“I don’t.”  There was an edge of frustration in Lewis’s voice.  “You asking about it is the first I’ve heard of any of it.

“Oh, come on!  You can’t expect me to believe Dr Hob–”

The muffled, yet unmistakeable sound of _I’m Too Sexy_ sounded out, cutting off Lewis’s captor in mid-flow as the man pulled his phone from his jacket pocket.

“Excuse me, I have to take this.”  He brushed past James without a sideways glance, oblivious to his presence.

The bell over the door leapt in a chaotic dance as the door was yanked open, and with that Lewis was left alone, unharmed but not necessarily unscathed.

James dropped into the chair beside Lewis, who snorted loudly.  “What a tosser.”

James slumped back and down.  “Where’d he come from?  That’s what I want to know.  Where are you going?”  Lewis had jumped to his feet.

“Out the back door.  If you think I’m going to hang around and wait for Peterson to finish his call and come back, you’ve got another think coming.”

“Pint?”  James snatched up his wallet and phone.

“Now that’s what I want to hear.”


End file.
